What I'll Never Tell You
by Max-chan
Summary: There are some things Romano wants to tell Spain, but he just can't. Or can he? Spamano fluff; GerIta if you squint which, come on, you are Rated for Roma's flowery language ;


Romano was awoken by a gentle kiss on his forehead. He groaned. "What is it Tomato Bastard? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Blowing some of his chestnut-colored hair out of his eyes, he rolled in his sheets so Spain was at his back. The ever-cheerful country, however, didn't seem deterred, for he grinned and responded with a bright, "Of course I do, Roma! It's four-thirty; however, we have an hour to get to the airport to be able to make the World Meeting at America's house!"

Romano carefully attempted to untangle himself from the sheets. "Beh, vite che! Just let my dumb-ass brother go. It's not like anyone will notice" he muttered. "Oh, but I will be lonely if mi pequena Roma doesn't come" he pouted, leaning over the struggling Italian and planted kisses all down his cheek and neck. Romano shrieked in apparent anger and slapped the Spaniard's face away, blushing madly.

"D-does it look like I give a damn if you're lonely? And don't do such creepy things, you perverted bastard!" Spain just grinned and pulled Romano off the bed. "Rapidamente! Our flight is at 5:30, so get dressed! Germany will be pissed if we're late again!" He pulled his nightshirt off and snatched a nicer one from a hanger. "What the hell, Spagna? Why are you in my room changing, when this is your house?" Spain shrugged and pulled the garment over his messy brown-haired head. "I dunno, I suppose I jus like to see you blushing when I do so!" his teased, voice slightly muffled by the thin yellow fabric.

"I do not blush, bastard!" Romano denied vehemently, shaking his blushing head wildly. Spain laughed, fishing through the armholes of his shirt in an attempt to pull his arm through. "Really, because I'm not blind, you know! I can see you now, mi deliciosa de tomate."

Still chuckling cheerily, Spain stepped out of the room. "Be ready in 15!" he called over his shoulder. "Like hell I'll be-" Romano muttered murderously, nonetheless slipping a shirt on for the meeting.

Romano stifled a yawn. He was both bored and tired, and the jet lag from their 7-and-a-half hour flight from Madrid to New York wasn't doing him any favors. France, Prussia, and Spain were quietly gossiping over which countries they thought were hooking up, et cetera. Romano was about to kill them with his bare hands; they were _that _damn annoying.

"Mm, Japan and Amerique, definitely" France decided, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, a smugly satisfied look on his face. Prussia nodded, knocking the little yellow chick dubbed Gilbird off his head. Gilbird gave an undignified screech and flew down to peck at his master's hand, who simply laughed and waved the bird off.

"And Russia 'n China. Actually, I think they're holding hands under the table!" All three bad friends glanced quickly under the table. Spain's face split into a wide grin. "You're right, Gil, they are holding hands! This should be fun!" Romano shook his head in slight disgust and rolled his eyes. Didn't those three have more important things to do, like listening to the Potato Bastard drone on about Global Warming, just to have China fevorently deny its existence?

France turned to Spain and wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "And someone told me you've been layin' down some South Italian pipes, if you know what I mean…" Romano somehow managed to choke on his own spit. "The hell, Wine Bastard? Who told you that?" he cried, rather loudly, causing everyone in the meeting room to stare at him. He flamed and looked down, slightly ashamed. He quickly got over it though, bolting from the room in the most dignified way he could manage. Italy tried to follow him, but Germany's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Nein. Let him be." Italy nodded and nestled himself against the pinking Germany, letting out a quiet, contented sigh.

Spain, however, did get up and follow Roma. He finally found him, sitting on the edge of a marble fountain, swirling a finger in the clear water. Silently, Spain sat beside him, hands under his thighs, chewing his lip. "Lo siento por ellos… they're rather vulgar sometimes, aren't they?" Romano said nothing, still tracing invisible spirals in the water. Spain watched, hypnotized.

"You didn't tell them that, did you?" Romano asked quietly, not looking up. Spain chuckled. "What, that we were sleeping together? No, I love you entirely too much to do that to you." A guilty look flashed in Romano's eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came. "Bene. If you did, I would have to turn you inside out, cover you in lime juice and salt, and then roll you down a hill in a barrel full of rusty razors." Spain flinched. "Wow. That's, um, creative of you."

Nodding distractedly, Romano pulled his dripping finger out of the fountain and wiped it on his pants. "Well, it would be damn embarrassing if we went back in now, so do ya… want to get gelato or something?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but he was blushing still. Spain shrugged, but couldn't hide the excited gleam in his bright green eyes. "Si, sounds bueno."

So, without a word more, the two nations stood, leaving the trickling of the fountain behind them. Spain attempted to grasp Romano's hand, but all he got in response was a harsh, stinging slap and a scolding, "be thankful I'm going anywhere in public with you, but NO HAND-HOLDING, DAMN IT!" Spain laughed.

Romano licked the strawberry-flavored gelato off the shallow spoon, trying to savor it and ignore Spain. Which was proving to be harder than he thought. First off, the gelato at America's house wasn't NEARLY as good as the stuff on his home peninsula, and secondly, how the hell could Spain be so damn adorable when eating gelato? It wasn't fair. (Or natural… not that Romano was saying anything or complaining)

Aforementioned nation seemed to not get the concept of a gelato spoon, as he kept spilling the stuff all over his tanned face. Scowling, Romano handed him a napkin, blushing as another way to rid Spain of the offending substance crossed his mind. He mentally slapped himself. "Oh, gracias Roma! This spoon isn't very deep, is it?" he asked cheerfully, wiping the orange cream off his face. "A spoon is a spoon, dumb-ass." Romano replied scornfully. (As a side note, why was it SO orange here…? Was just plain orange not okay, or must it be fluorescent?)

Spain crumpled up the napkin and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the little wrought-iron table and his face in his hands. "So, Roma, why did you really ask me out?" Damn, Romano had just gotten rid of his pink cheeks, and now they were coming back with a vengeance. "I have no idea what you're talking about" he replied unconvincingly. Spain frowned. "Yes, you do." Okay, maybe he did. Not like the Tomato Bastard was finding out what it was anytime soon.

"Mm, what time is our ride back?" he asked, changing the subject. Spain's frown deepened. "14:30, por que?" Romano stood up, glancing at his watch. 'Cause it's 13:45 now, asshat. We've gotta fly, literally."

The flight back was long and uneventful. Romano let Spain hold his hand, just because he was wiped. (At least, that was his excuse.) When they got back to Spain's place in Madrid, they both silently trudged to their respective rooms and practically collapsed on the beds. "Mm, buenas noches, mi amor." Spain called out in a pillow-muffled voice. Romano ignored him, letting sweet tendrils of sleep pull him under.

Later that night, Romano awoke. Something was bothering him, and it needed to be addressed soon. So he pulled himself off the mattress, slipping his shoes off, and stepped onto the floor lightly. He crept into the hallway, wincing at every creak and hoping not to wake Spain up. Luckily for him, his door was open, so he snuck in quietly. Taking in a much-needed breath and making sure the elder nation was asleep, he curled up next to Spain, resting his head on his shoulders gently. "Ti amo, Spagna" he whispered softly. "And… I took you out to thank you for loving me even though I'm a total ass, and for leaving the meeting we took 7 hours to get to for me… and I really do like it when you kiss me, bastard. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, y'know… when you're actually conscious" he paused for a quick, almost silent laugh, "but I'm a coward, like my brother, just in a different way." He smiled bitterly, a tear dripping down his face. Sleep once again tugged at his eyelids, and he couldn't help but fall asleep, curled against Spain. And when his breathing steadied, Spain opened his shining green eyes and smiled.

Story: Things I'll Never Tell You

Author: Max-chan

Word Count (w/o notes): 1,501

Pairing(s) Used: Spamano, and I'd like to think there was hinted GerIta?

Disclaimer: I don't Hetalia, the characters, et cetera. Hidekaz Himaruya and Gentosha Comics do. Plus, if I meet someone on FANfiction who owns Hetalia, I would be amazed, XD

Summary (which, knowing me, is subject to change): There are some things Romano would love to tell Spain, but he just can't. Or can he? Spamano fluff; GerIta if you squint (which, come on, you are) Rated for Roma's flowery mouth.

Random Crap by Max! (Who is a girl w/ a guy's name "OTL): Hmm, somehow I actually got a GerIta fic posted before my other OTP's… which were Spamano and Ameripan. (Which needs more LOVE, fools!) I've got a Spamano fic that starts out angsty as all get out, but gets slightly fluffy by the end. I have it in my journal as a three-shot, but the third is rather short, so it might end up as 2… anyway, it's about what happens to Southern Italy after the mafia drives all the peeps out and wreaks general havoc on the land. Anyone interested? Also, sorry for the shit writing; state testing was this week… "OTL glad it's over and done with, though. Peace out!

~Max


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